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About the Author
Copyright Page
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Acknowledgments
Big thanks go to the following people: my excellent editor at St. Martin’s, Daniela Rapp, for helping me produce the best book possible; my wonderful agent, Janet Rosen of Sheree Bykofsky Associates, for her support and professional know-how over the years; my critique group, Mary-Kate Mackey, Deanna Larson, Kelly O’Brien, and Sophia Bennett, for their enthusiasm and sharp editing skills; and, as always, my husband, Jeff Ostler, for his support and valuable input as I was writing this book.
Preface
What’s your pet usage peeve? Do you grind your teeth when someone starts a sentence with hopefully? Does it drive you crazy when someone says between you and I? We all have intense feelings about language use, and nearly everyone has a few usage gripes. These can range from the purely grammatical, such as substituting me for I, to spelling errors like writing it’s instead of its. We’ve all been exposed to the standard rules at some time or another—“Don’t split an infinitive”; “never end a sentence with a preposition”; “use whom in objective case”; “avoid double negatives.”
Never mind that these rules are seldom followed and may be impossible to apply consistently. (Try using subject pronouns after every instance of the verb to be. It is I might be okay, but how does It couldn’t have been we sound?) Never mind that some of them don’t make sense for English. (Infinitives, for example, are already “split,” since they consist of two words—to plus a verb. There’s no reason not to boldly insert an adverb in between.) These well-worn axioms are woven into the culture. Once they get a grip on us, it’s hard to break free.
Every so often, language scholars will point out the pitfalls of trying to follow arbitrary grammar rules from earlier centuries. Their well-meaning interventions never fail to trigger red-hot outbursts from purists. Blog posts that touch even indirectly on style issues draw huge numbers of angry comments. People who’ve learned the traditional rules don’t want to be told that those rules are confused or don’t really matter. A command of the standard grammar rules is one hallmark of a good education and has been for centuries. For many people it’s more than that—it’s a sign of civic virtue.
Our fascination with grammar is nothing new. Americans have been passionate about grammar and linguistic style since the earliest days of the republic. The question of which linguistic model the new country should follow was energetically debated in the early United States. On one side were those who still saw England as the source of superior speech habits. Although they could imagine polishing and improving the language, they weren’t interested in making any radical changes. They preferred to stick with the tried and true, including imported British grammar books.
On the other side—a much smaller group—were the linguistic freethinkers who wanted to see Americans develop their own speech standards based on their own natural idiom. Famous dictionary author Noah Webster was among the first to champion this side. His alternative grammar writings encouraged Americans to blaze their own linguistic path. Webster’s challenges to his grammatical enemies—and their furious retorts—were the first of those explosive clashes that seem to be an inevitable feature of any grammar discussion.
No matter which side you were on in the late eighteenth century, grammar books were big business. They provided the foundation of a solid education. Children learned how to read and spell from the lists of letters and syllables in the first chapters of the book. Those who were lucky enough to attend school for more than a year or two progressed to more advanced lessons. Older students spent a large part of the school day memorizing parts of speech and usage rules, and meticulously dissecting sentences into their component parts. The carefully chosen readings, either at the back of the book or in a separate volume, were meant to do more than teach language skills. They turned children’s thoughts toward righteous living. Just studying a grammar book was in itself considered a step in the direction of goodness.
Plenty of adults in early America memorized grammar books, too. In the new country, opportunities for self-betterment were greater than ever before, but a command of standard English was a necessary first step. That meant mastering the contents of one of the popular grammar texts. Because they were cheaper and more available than other books, they were an educational lifeline for anyone too poor, too geographically isolated, or too old to take advantage of formal schooling.
Early grammar books are exotic items today. They are filled with antiquated prose, obscure quotations, and elevated passages from long-forgotten volumes. With their ornate typefaces, they are sometimes a struggle to read. Yet in some ways grammar books are oddly familiar. Most of the rules that people think about when they hear the words “correct grammar” can be found in these books, often with their wording virtually unchanged. The double negatives rule—“two negatives make a positive”—has come down to us over the centuries very much as it appeared in 1770s grammar books.
Old-fashioned grammar books held a powerful cultural sway until recent decades. As late as the mid-twentieth century, they were an important part of many people’s education. We used them in the small parochial school that I attended in the 1960s. Like schoolchildren of previous centuries, we worked our way straight through the books, memorizing and reciting everything in our path, including the inspirational poems that the authors inserted to break up the lists of verb forms and usage rules. (Longfellow’s “Excelsior” is one example that stands out in my recollection.) By the time we graduated, my classmates and I had the rules down cold. I’m guessing that most of us still do.
People these days no longer learn grammar by memorizing a book. Few schoolchildren study grammar as a distinct subject, and in any case, rote memorization as a teaching tool has gone out of style. The books still matter though. Their rules—and their point of view—continue to color how we think about language. Ask anyone for a grammar rule and the odds are that you’ll be told not to end a sentence with a preposition or split an infinitive. Grammar advice, both in print and online, remains a booming business. Many people still believe that being able to hit all the grammar marks reveals something positive about their intelligence, social class, and character. Even if we realize that speech styles change over time, we can’t help feeling jarred when writers or our conversational partners violate familiar shibboleths, such as saying like when it should be as or using I instead of me after a preposition.
The terms of the grammar debate have changed remarkably little since the late eighteenth century. There are some signs, however, that the gulf between the two sides may be narrowing. One is the more flexible attitude of many style advisors toward common usages. Another is the increased number of linguists and other language professionals writing about usage in terms that nonspecialists can follow. Whichever side of the debate you’re on, understanding how we got to this place is sure to give you a better appreciation of your own and other people’s approach to language use.
1.
Grammar for a New Country
On the evening of October 19, 1785, thirty people braved the rainy Baltimore weather to attend the first of five lectures on the English language. The cautious ones had paid a quarter for a ticket to this one event. The more committed had spent seven shillings sixpence (equal to a dollar) for the whole series. The lectures were to take place in the First Presbyterian Church, a plain brick building on Fayette Street. Although the building was small—only fifty pews—the audience didn’t begin to fill it. The speaker, a young visitor to Baltimore named Noah Webster, was not well enough known to draw a big crowd.1
This evening would be Webster’s first experience as a public lecturer. An unsuccessful lawyer and itinerant schoolmaster, the twenty-six-year-old native of Hartford, Connecticut, had recently launched a new career—author of grammar and spelling books. Webster’s three-part Grammatical Institute of the English Language featured a speller, a grammar, and a reader, the three subjects typically taught under the broad heading of “grammar” in early American schools. They were the first books of their kind written by an American, for Americans.
Although the speller was on its way to becoming popular, the grammar had not come close to replacing the available British versions. Webster hoped to change that. He had been on the road since May, crisscrossing the Eastern Seaboard from New York to South Carolina. In every town he visited, he distributed his books to schools, left stacks of them with booksellers, advertised them in newspapers, and talked about them to anyone who might be interested. The American language was Webster’s passion. He believed strongly that Americans deserved language books designed expressly for them.2
Webster also wanted protection from book printers who might pirate his work. As he traveled, he registered his books in the few states that guaranteed copyright, and petitioned legislators in other states to pass copyright laws. Catching the legislatures in session often meant loitering in one place for weeks. He had traveled from Baltimore to Charleston in late June only to find South Carolina’s legislature out of session, so he returned to Baltimore to wait until it reconvened.
While he waited, he kept busy. There was plenty to do in this bustling harbor town. Almost daily, Webster breakfasted or took tea with new acquaintances, or simply strolled through town with them. At least twice, he went down to the harbor and boarded ships that had recently arrived from exotic places like China and India. He joined the First Presbyterian Church and became friends with its young pastor, Dr. Patrick Allison. With Allison’s approval, he started a singing school at the church and gave music lessons during the week. He began studying French.
The English language and grammar were still Webster’s main concern. One week in late August when he had fewer social engagements than usual, he decided to occupy himself by putting his ideas on paper. Over the next month, he wrote steadily. By early October he had finished five “dissertations”—essays outlining his theories about language, and especially about American English. Over cups of tea, he read them to Allison, who liked them well enough to agree that Webster could use the church for a series of lectures.
Public lectures were a popular form of entertainment in the eighteenth century. Webster attended several during his bookselling trip, mainly on scientific subjects. Americans of the time believed that most leisure activities should be aimed at self-improvement. As citizens of a new democracy, they also considered it their duty to stay well informed. Besides providing an evening out, lectures were a way to keep up with the latest scientific discoveries and cultural trends. Writers, inventors, preachers, and speakers of all kinds took to the traveling lecture circuit to make money and spread their ideas.
No doubt part of Webster’s plan was to earn a little money. He was currently surviving on the edge of poverty, and traveling was expensive. At least as important, though, was his desire to influence the way Americans used and thought about their language. The announcement advertising the lectures promised a “general history of the English language,” but Webster’s real aim was more radical.3 He wanted to convince his audience to take a bold new approach to grammar—a uniquely American approach.
Some of those waiting in the sparsely filled pews that October evening may have been fellow church members. Others would have been drawn there no matter what the topic, simply as a way to fill an evening. Grammar was an especially compelling issue, though, for anyone who cared about education or self-betterment. Schoolchildren spent much of their class time memorizing and reciting grammar rules, but the books were important for adults, too, especially those who lacked formal schooling. People who wanted to advance in life needed a command of educated-sounding English. That meant poring over and memorizing standard grammar texts. Grammar books were prized possessions in the late eighteenth century. Quite a few households owned only two volumes—the Bible and a grammar book.
Webster started his talk promptly at 7:00 p.m. Tall, angular, and square-jawed, with an erect posture and curling auburn hair, he would have made an imposing figure. He was not a polished speaker. Some of his listeners later remarked on his high-pitched voice and stiff gestures. He spoke in an overbearing style that to many came off as arrogant, but it was really the intensity of fierce commitment and confidence in his own point of view.
Webster began with boilerplate remarks on the value of language study and on the “purity, strength, and elegance” of English in particular. This type of commentary was typical among eighteenth-century language scholars. Soon, however, he was expounding more original ideas.4
He spoke of the political desirability of achieving a uniform speech standard for the whole country. This idea was not new in itself—others had suggested it. Webster had an unusual perspective on it though. “As an independent nation,” he told his listeners, “our honor requires us to have a system of our own, in language as well as government.” The mother country, he argued, was too far away to act as a model. Besides, it was no longer appropriate for Americans to follow the old world’s lead.
In Great Britain, the speech habits of royalty and the upper classes were the preferred model, but Webster thought it was absurd to base a country’s linguistic standards on the speech of one group, especially as their usage was bound to change over time. That would be “like fixing a lighthouse on a floating island.” Instead, Webster believed that Americans should set their own standards. “The rules of the language itself,” he said, “and the general practice of the nation, constitute propriety in speaking.”
Other grammarians, in Webster’s view, had made one major mistake in their treatment of English: “They lay down certain rules, arbitrary perhaps or drawn from the principles of other languages, and then condemn all English phrases which do not coincide with those rules. They seem not to consider that grammar is formed on language, and not language on grammar.” Here he was taking a swipe at rival grammar book authors, who modeled their grammar rules on those of Latin. He continued, “Instead of examining to find what the English language is, they endeavor to show what it ought to be according to their rules.”
To eighteenth-century grammar book authors—and the people who bought their books—these were fighting words. They contradicted all the accepted ideas about what grammar was for and how to teach it. Webster had just fired the opening round in a battle that’s still raging today. On one side are those who think that grammar should reflect what the English language is, on the other are those more concerned with showing what it ought to be.
The lecture eventually expanded into a broader examination of the English language. For twenty-five cents (worth about the price of a movie ticket in today’s terms), eighteenth-century audiences expected a thorough exploration of the speaker’s topic lasting at least two hours. Webster sketched a brief history of English, including its foreign influences, and touched on its convoluted spelling practices, another of his linguistic concerns.5
At the end of his lecture he returned to the question of American speech standards and called again for a new approac
h. Standards should be based on the obvious patterns of the language. Where no clear pattern existed, grammar rules should be based on “the opinions of the learned, and the practice of the nations.” In other words, standards should come from what most people deemed acceptable speech. That did not necessarily coincide with the rules found in the currently popular British grammar books.
In spite of Webster’s shortcomings as a lecturer, his subject found a ready audience. Each succeeding talk drew a larger attendance. His discussions ranged widely, from a sweeping review of the world’s languages and how they evolved to an examination of controversial word pronunciations in different areas of the country. Whatever the issue, he kept returning to his argument that Americans should take charge of their own speech.
This belief led him to champion some usages that were frowned on by most grammarians of the time. He noted that while It is me was not considered strictly grammatical, it was far more prevalent than It is I, and therefore should be acceptable. He also thought Who do you speak to was preferable to Whom do you speak to because the latter was never heard in ordinary speech. In Webster’s opinion, whom was “hardly English at all”—more of a corruption from Latin. Again and again, he emphasized that American speech standards should be based on America’s linguistic realities, not the language of the British king and court or the irrelevant patterns of Latin grammar.
By the time Webster had finished presenting the complete series of talks on October 26, he was able to note with satisfaction in his diary, “The lectures have received so much applause that I am induced to revise and continue reading them in other towns.” He later wrote to a friend that his ideas had been well received, including his criticisms of other grammarians. He explained, “My criticisms are new and no person here is capable of disproving my remarks.” With characteristic self-confidence, he then restated his determination to change how Americans talked: “I have begun a reformation in the language and my plan is yet but in embryo.”6 He hoped that with more lecturing and writing, he could draw Americans away from British grammar books and toward a more natural form of speech.
Founding Grammars Page 1
